


Racing Shadows

by wrotelucy



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam is kinda weak in this but whatever, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, pynch - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 01:00:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3154886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrotelucy/pseuds/wrotelucy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: pynch, racing each other through cabeswater and not really knowing where they’re going but the trees are talking to them in latin and it’s all happy and ahhh first kiss moments please <333</p>
            </blockquote>





	Racing Shadows

**“You’re going to have to speed up if you want to keep up with me, Parrish,”** Ronan taunted, tossing the words over his shoulder as he threw himself deeper into the woods. The trees around them were growing thinner, darker, the voices growing louder—strained black shadows, hovering over them, claw like. Sunlight filtered through the growing spaces, drawing in the two boys that raced, gilding them in haunting pastel-gold. The trees whispered and shook around them, thousands of voices calling out in warning overhead, asking questions, making requests, and sending the rays of light aflutter. But Adam Parrish and Ronan Lynch were none the wiser, fixated, instead, on the only things they knew to be real in all the mystical wood—each other.

 **“Who says I want to keep up,”** Adam shot back breathlessly, straining to catch the boy ahead of him. To Adam, Ronan appeared a mere shadow, edges defined only by the light that bounced off of him as he pushed through it. Yet, the shadow ahead of him was  _distinctly_ reminiscent of Ronan Lynch—a craned neck; pointed shoulder blades which flexed, wing-like; tight spindly legs. It was a sharp, dangerous shadow, appearing maybe more monster than human. A shadow that veiled the one person that Adam Parrish would probably follow anywhere—because he trusted him. He trusted this shadow with his life, possibly more than he trusted himself.

Ronan gave a snort at Adam’s reply and surged only further forward. Adam’s lungs swelled against his ribcage, frantic to expand and let in more air.  _Do shadows even have lungs_ , wondered Adam, trying to make sense of Ronan’s ceaseless energy. 

 _They do, they do,_ replied Cabeswater.  _And so do you_.

Around them, a gust of wind seemed to pick up, sending goose bumps up Ronan’s arms and brushing Adam’s hair.

_Use them, Adam Parrish._

Heaving a deep breath, Adam charged forward. Something in him, it seemed, was revitalized. Kicking up leaves in his wake—leaves that danced off, through the sunbeams, rejoining their dark fathers, the trees, the sparse shadowy trees—Adam pushed and pushed and pushed against the earth, moving faster than he’d ever known he could. Soon the shadow became a blur, and then after some time, the blur became a boy. 

 **“On your right, Lynch,”** Adam whispered, just loud enough for the boy to hear.

Then, when the boy’s head twisted violently towards Adam, the boy became Ronan. Sharp and shaded cheekbones, severe blue eyes boring into Adam’s, mouth curled into something that might have been a smirk, but just as easily could have been a sneer. Adam grinned back, desperately suppressing laughter to save the vital air that got him there. By the time Ronan’s lips formed the first letter of a curse word, Adam had already pushed ahead. 

Thus, Adam became the glowing darkness, the distinct and yet indistinct shadow, the monstrous thing. But Ronan, knew, even more so than Adam had, that the thing before him was no monster. It was a boy, and not just any boy—it was, in fact,  _the_ boy. With Ronan Lynch, there was really only _one_ boy.

(Ronan would always remember the first time he realized it—turning to Kavinsky, brows furrowed, a slight headache, a bigger heartache—“It was never gonna be you and me,” He’d said. Of course, Kavinsky thought it was about Gansey.  But it wasn’t about Kavinsky. It was never about Gansey. For all Ronan cared or knew, he was the Czerny to Gansey’s Whelk. So it wasn’t about him. But it was about another boy.)

 And that boy, of course, was Adam Parrish.

The trees hummed, flexing inward—inhale, exhale, breathing life into Adam Parrish. The voices cheered him on, flying as fast as Adam’s feet would carry him. Adam, in response, let out a laugh, and pressed onward, streaking faster through the mischievous shadows, following the shifting panels of light.

 _What are you doing to him,_ whispered Ronan.

 _Taking him from you,_ answered Cabeswater. Ronan nearly stopped, half-tripping as he made the split-decision to keep going, realizing letting Adam further into Cabeswater  _without_ him was probably not the best idea.

 _You’re not protecting me if you’re not protecting him,_ Ronan warned, dashing forward, suddenly paranoid of the trees and the voices and all of Cabewater’s power.  _And you’re supposed to protect me._

 _We are protecting you, Greywaren,_ the trees responded.  _From him._

Ronan blinked. Then, Ronan frowned.  _That’s bullshit._

_You don’t know, Greywaren. You don’t know._

**“Oh, I do know,”** Ronan responded very audibly and very angrily.  **“Fuck off.”**

Adam Parrish looked over his shoulder at Ronan.

 _Careful, Greywaren. Mind where you tread, Greywaren._  

 **“Parrish,”**  Ronan shouted, lunging forward. At the sound of his name, Adam turned around fully—barely coming to a full stop as Ronan crashed into him, knocking the pair of them to the ground. The two boys rolled one over the other, Ronan’s momentum forcing them along. The trees whistled and hissed as twigs snapped and roots pressed into the boys’ bones. Eventually they hit a pair of trees and were forced to a stop, the impact leaving them both without air in their lungs and their limbs tangled together in some kind of mimic of an embrace. 

On the ground, caught in little more than a pinhole of light, their faces were nothing more than outlines.  Yet they were there, together, and knew it very well. Adam left out a shaky laugh. Ronan could feel Adam’s breath along his neck, causing warmth to rush to Ronan’s face.  Ronan wondered whether the shakiness was due to the proximity or the fact that they were both still struggling to breathe.

 **“Ronan Lynch, sore loser of the century,”** Adam muttered after he caught his breath.

 **“I wasn’t _losing_ ,” **Ronan hissed. Adam shifted beneath him, letting out a snort. The movement sent a shudder through Ronan’s bones. He blinked. They were on their sides, Adam pinned between the trees and Ronan, Adam’s knees jammed between Ronan’s legs. Each of Ronan’s hands were fully engaged—one was fisted in the front Adam’s shirt, the other was pushed against one of the trees, arm tucked beneath Adam—a protective gesture. Ronan heaved a deep breath. He needed to move.

 **“Got a better explanation for tackling me, then, Lynch?”** Adam shot back, jutting out his chin and knocking it against Ronan’s shoulder. Ronan grit his teeth. Unclenching his fist, he released Adam’s shirt and started working his arm out from beneath Adam.

 **“You know me,”** Ronan responded dryly. Freeing his arm, Ronan rolled over onto his back and tucked his arms behind his head. He stared up into the black canopy.  _Careful where you tread, Greywaren,_ it reminded.  **“Just can’t keep my hands off you, Parrish.”**  Ronan finished hollowly, a smirk forming with the irony. 

Adam shifted away from the tree and, consequently, closer to Ronan. There was a brief moment of eerie silence—even Cabeswater was quiet, as far as Ronan could hear—before Adam muttered, **“You sure about that?”**

 **“Oh fuck off, like you’re so—”** But Ronan couldn’t come up with anything to say beyond that, so he switched gears, coughing lamely to cover the mistake.  **“I’m the very essence of self control, Parrish.”**

 **“You can call me Adam, sometimes, you know,”** Adam noted, distantly, as his fingers found the edge of Ronan’s shirt. Ronan chewed his lower lip.

 _What are you doing to him,_ Ronan asked, again, mouthing the words to the canopy. The leaves fluttered.

 _We warned you, Greywaren,_  it answered.

 **“Problem, Parrish?”** Ronan accused, applying a smirk to match the challenge in his voice.

 **“Yeah—I think—”** Adam’s voice made an attempt at evenness, but faltered as he swallowed a shallow breath.

 _We warned you, Greywaren,_ the trees whispers hovered in all of Ronan’s pores. _We warned you. Mind where you tread, where you tread, where you_ —

 **“I think you should kiss me,”** Adam said, finally.

Ronan’s lips parted, but he did not dare turn towards the boy beside him.

 **“Why?”** He asked, in a voice that bordered on the disembodied. Something inside him hummed. Adam poked his ribs with a tentative finger. 

 **“Because I think you want to,”** Adam replied.

Ronan snorted, disguising horror with derision.  **“Someone seems to think a lot of themselves.”**

 **“Well, I want you to,”** Adam said, voice slightly quieter, as he jammed his finger into a space between Ronan’s ribs. Ronan in took a sharp breath, and it wasn’t due to the finger in his side. Adam smiled slightly at this, digging the finger a little deeper. Following a moment of Ronan’s silence, Adam added,  **“Or well, maybe, I could just kiss _you._ ”**

 **“Fucking do it then,”** Ronan replied, without hesitation, eyes still fixed above him.  _Careful, Greywaren. Careful,_ muttered the trees. Ronan wondered if they would ever just  _fuck off_. 

 **“But you _want_ to kiss me,” **Adam said, sweeping up some of Ronan’s shirt with his thumb and pinching it against the digging index finger. Then, voice nearly a whisper: **“I know you do.”**

Ronan took a deep breath, closing his eyes against Cabeswater’s mutterings, against the feel of Adam’s fingers at his side.

 **“I’ve waited a long time, Adam,”** He exhaled, tongue sliding across his lower lip.  **“I could wait longer.”**

Adam took some time with his answer, carefully considering his words.  **“Well, I can’t.”**

Ronan’s eyes fluttered open. He turned to look at Adam but couldn’t see him, still, for all the dark.  **“Then do it, Adam,”** Ronan whispered back to the darkness beside him. The darkness shifted. A hand found it’s way to Ronan’s chest; another set of fingers touched the top of his shoulder. There was breath on his face, warm and shallow. Ronan’s heart rioted in his chest, seizing, beating and beating and beating.

 **“ _Please,_ ” **Ronan added, faintly, as he shifted his hands out from behind his head. Settling his right against Adam’s ribs and his left against Adam’s neck, he prayed again. **“ _Jesus Christ, please_.”**

The pressure of Adam’s hand left Ronan’s chest. Ronan held his breath. A set of fingers found Ronan’s chin, the corner of his mouth, his bottom lip. He started to say Adam’s name, but the breath of the A was stolen from his mouth as a set of lips settled over his own, causing him to sigh. 

Adam Parrish was kissing Ronan Lynch. Ronan closed his eyes, reveled in the feeling of the boy, _the_ boy, the one boy, above him, around him,  _kissing_ him. Ronan felt a slight tug as Adam suckled on his upper lip before drawing away, breathing a small breath.

 **“You’re not kissing me back,”** Adam noted. Ronan hoped Adam’s eyes were still closed, or at least that the darkness made him invisible, because he could surely feel his face turning scarlet. He almost started to apologize when Adam added,  **“You haven’t died of shock, have you?”**

 **“Oh fuck off,”** Ronan replied, sliding his hand up Adam’s neck and into his hair. He gave a little tug. **“Now it’s my turn.”** And then he pressed his lips to Adam’s, crushingly, hungrily, daring to take as much as he could carry before he woke up.

This was usually where Ronan Lynch woke up. 

Then again, he had never had Adam kiss  _him_ before. So maybe—Ronan hoped.

As Adam breathed Ronan’s own name into Ronan’s mouth, Ronan opened his eyes.

It wasn’t a dream. The trees and the darkness and the golden light were still there. Cabeswater was hushed. Adam was above him, fingers tightening in his shirt. Ronan closed his eyes again, smiling—decidely not smirking—into the kiss as Adam pulled at Ronan’s bottom lip with his teeth. It wasn’t a dream.  _It wasn’t a dream._

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on my [tumblr](http://babellamy.tumblr.com/post/107501831103/prompt-pynch-racing-each-other-through)
> 
> kudos are love but comments are life ;)


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